Assigning Blame
by theypreferthetermpeople
Summary: Brandon's decision to finally tell Lena about his sexual encounter with Dani takes courage. The aftermath takes strength. Based on episodes 1x21 and 2x7. Trigger warning: sexual assault. (I'm not a Brandon sympathizer, but I wanted to explore the issue of male survivors of sexual violence and coerced consent. And this is the one situation in which Brandon is not to blame.)
1. Chapter 1

_Now, I'm the last person who wants to be seen as a Brandon sympathizer, but I never felt like his sexual assault was appropriately addressed, and I thought writing some of it might be cathartic for me as a survivor. This story references sex while intoxicated and underage (1x21) and parental responses (2x7). Trigger warning for statutory rape and victim blaming._

Brandon's eyes popped open, awakening from yet another dream about the incident. Ever since it had happened, it had haunted him: every night, every time he heard from his dad, every time he saw his siblings with their significant others. This mistake. This failure. And it was all his fault. He knew it was going to destroy his dad to hear what had happened, but it was destroying him to keep it inside. The same tape kept replaying, the sense of hopeless despair, her putting him to bed, the kiss, the sensation of her hands on his sides... He couldn't shake the memory no matter how hard he tried, and maybe, just maybe, telling his moms what had happened would help.

* * *

"Mama?" Brandon poked his head into his moms' room. He knew Stef was out, which made it the perfect time to confess. Lena was generally less likely to explode in any situation, and he knew his dad's proximity to this one would make it especially volatile.

"Yeah, B?" Lena replied, looking up from her Kindle.

"Can I- can I talk to you for a minute?"

Lena's brow wrinkled. Her eldest son, usually so calm and collected, sounded uncharacteristically nervous. "Of course, honey. Come sit," she said, patting Stef's side of the bed. Brandon came further into the room, then paused hesitantly. Now she was really curious, and a little bit nervous, too. What was going on? She waited patiently until Brandon had joined her on the bed, his hands in his lap and eyes downcast. "What's going on, bud?"

Brandon cleared his throat. "Uh... I- I have- I have something to tell you," he stuttered, staring at his fingers. Lena stayed silent. He looked up to see her looking at him gently, both confusion and concern evident. "I made a mistake," he said finally, turning his gaze back down. "A big mistake."

"What happened, B?" After a long pause, she added, "You can tell me anything, sweetie. You know that."

He nodded numbly. "I..." He swallowed hard. Then, letting the words spill out quickly, he murmured, "IhadsexwithDani."

Lena cocked her head. "What was that, honey?"

He exhaled heavily, and repeated, slower this time: "I had sex...with Dani." Brandon kept his eyes focused on his lap, waiting for the news to break. Waiting for the weight to lift. Waiting for his mom to respond.

Lena, for her part, was stunned. Never in a million years had she expected this. She didn't know how to react. But Brandon, her sweet baby boy, was curling farther into himself with every second of silence that followed his pronouncement.

"Oh, Brandon," she breathed, reaching out a hand to touch his knee.

He let himself feel the comfort, slowly leaning towards her until Lena took him into her arms. His eyes were damp with tears, which made him angrier at himself than before. He never cried, probably because of all the messages of toxic masculinity he'd been indoctrinated with before the divorce. Showing that kind of weakness felt like ice on a burn, refreshing and painful at the same time. After another long silence, he sat up, Lena's hand still on his back.

"Tell me everything," she said softly, and he did.

* * *

He knew telling Stef was a bad idea. He knew telling Mike was a bad idea. Hell, telling Lena hadn't been a great idea either, even though it was a relief at the time. But he should have known she would make him tell his other parents, and he _had_ known that a full confession would bring a hailstorm of emotions from both of them: his mom's anger at his dad, his dad's shock and disbelief, the dull undercurrent of shame behind the whole story. It made him nauseated just to think about it, standing up in his room after having run away from all the yelling. Why had he told? It was better to suffer in silence. At least that way he was the only one who was hurting. At least then he hadn't hurt his moms and his dad, hadn't proved what a shitty son he was. The sound of his bedroom door opening made him turn around. He wasn't surprised to see his mom coming in. Walking away was frowned upon in their household, and he'd known she would be mad. But surprisingly, what came out of her mouth was reassurance. Comfort. "I'm glad you told us" and "it's not your fault." She was wrong, of course. It _was_ his fault. He had initiated it, had made the first move. He wasn't a victim, no matter what his mom said about it being illegal. He had messed up, just like he always did. He had made this happen. He had made everyone angry. And so, in this spiral of shame and blame, he lashed out in a way that felt disconnected from his actual brain. He could hear himself telling his mom to go away, that he refused to file a police report and wouldn't cooperate with her if she did. He saw himself turn away, dismissing her. But he felt far away, unattached to the body that was acting out. It was as if his mind had gone elsewhere, tucked itself into a warm blanket of mist to protect from the reality at hand.

That night, Stef came into his bedroom again, while he was lying numbly on top of his covers. She laid down next to him, resting her head on his, pressing a few gentle kisses to his temple. Being a mom. Giving him the silent support he needed to start to handle this.

* * *

A couple of days later, when he arrived home from school, he found a handwritten note on his bedside table, folded in half. It was in Lena's neat cursive, her perfect teacher's pet handwriting. He sat down, letting his backpack fall to the floor, and opened it. It read:

 _Dear Brandon,_  
 _I know you think it was your fault what happened with Dani. I know Mom tried to tell you that being drunk and underage made what Dani did illegal. I know that deep down, you know that. If this had happened to anyone else, B, anyone you love, you wouldn't blame them. So don't blame yourself, honey. Dani is an adult. She was sober. It was her responsibility to be in control of the situation. She took advantage of you. And that, baby, is sexual assault. That is rape. No matter who kissed whom first, no matter if you said no or not. The blame is on her, 100%._  
 _Your mom and I love you so much, B. Your dad does too, even if he shows it a little differently. I know he's hurt right now. I think he feels guilty that he brought Dani into your life in the first place. And you know Mom isn't really angry at you, or at your dad. She's angry at Dani. Because Dani messed up, B. You didn't. Okay?_  
 _Love,_  
 _Mama_  
 _P.S. Remember, you can talk to me and Mom any time. About anything. I promise._

As he finished the letter, the tears began to well up, and this time, he didn't even try to hold them back.


	2. Chapter 2

_Here's the second and final chapter of this little Brandon processing fic. Tw for sexual assault flashbacks. Some Mommy cuddles help :) Also, in my latest re-watch I've realized that B tells Lena about the assault when he's high after the pot brownie, so give me some leniency there, okay?_

* * *

As the days went by, Brandon continued to dream the experience of his encounter with Dani, but the dreams had changed. The sensory memories, dulled by the alcohol, were returning to him in the kind of sharp light that surrounded his recollections of Mike's alcoholism. Any time Mike was drunk or hungover, Brandon could tell, and his brain felt like it shut down on an intellectual level and functioned only in the emotional. This was the same. Every dream felt painfully real, his awareness so sharp it could cut. During the actual assault, he'd been numbed out from the booze, and everything had been hazy. Now, the tactile memory attached itself to his subconscious. Whenever he slept, he felt Dani beside him, felt her hands on his chest, his stomach, his penis. Felt her breath on his face. Woke up panting the moment before she took off his pants - always the moment before. Trembled in the darkness, sat up in bed, curled his knees to his chest and put his face down. Sat in that tight ball until sleep overtook him again. These restless nights continued for a week. He did his best to put the dreams out of his mind during the daytime, to focus on school and piano. He could, mostly. It was only at night, in the silence and emptiness of his bedroom, that Dani haunted him.

However cool Brandon thought he was playing it, Stef and Lena could tell something was wrong. He came down for breakfast early, looking exhausted, and staying up reading in the den until one of them forced him into bed. He practiced on the piano in the living room, rather than his bedroom keyboard. And during meals, he seemed to zone in and out of conversation, jumping when touched and asking for questions to be repeated. After a week, Stef finally brought it up to Lena as they sat in their own bed, listening to the faint strains of music arising from downstairs.

"Lena, he's not sleeping."

"I know," she acknowledged with a sigh, closing the laptop in front of her. "But I don't know what we can do, Stef. He doesn't want to talk about it. We've both tried."

"Well, we ought to try harder, then," Stef insisted. "I can't keep watching him crumble like this."

Lena bit her lip. Much as she wanted to respect their son's privacy, she agreed with her wife. Telling his secret hadn't seemed to lighten Brandon's burden the way she'd hoped it would, and her letter hadn't either. He needed to talk about it, to process it. He needed to externalize the trauma.

"We could suggest he see a therapist," she began, "but you know -"

"He'll refuse," Stef finished for her. "I know. What if we just set up an appointment with Dr. Kodema for him?"

"Stef, we can't force him into therapy. It doesn't work like that. That's why Callie's was so ineffective at first. There has to be client buy-in, and if he's only there because we're making him, he won't really make the effort."

"I know." Stef scowled. "I just can't watch him crack like this anymore, Lena. He's a mess."

"I know," Lena agreed. "We have to be careful, though. If we push too hard, he may just clam up more."

"I'm going to talk to him. I can't do this anymore."

"Be gentle, Stef," Lena pleaded. "Let him come to you."

With a brisk nod that didn't appease Lena, Stef rolled out of bed and left the room. Lena listened to the stairs creak as her partner went down to the living room, and then heard the piano stop. She must have spoken to Brandon. Half of her wished she could go downstairs too, and be part of the conversation. But she knew telling one person would be hard enough for Brandon, and she didn't want to pressure him. Instead, she went to check on the other four, at least reassuring herself of their relative safety.

Down on the sofa, Brandon was sitting stiffly as far from his mom as he could get. Whenever she asked him to "please take a seat, love," he knew something bad was coming. But he didn't expect the first words out of her mouth to be, "I love you, B." Nothing else, just a declaration of love and then silence.

"I love you too, Mom," he replied, coughing a little. "Um... Can I go back to practicing?" He knew it was a long shot, but anything to get out of this conversation he could feel coming like a barrel down a waterfall.

"Let's talk," Stef said, ignoring his request. "How's the hand, bud? You sound good."

Brandon was surprised, and relieved that his mom only seemed to want some bonding time, rather than a whole big Thing. "It's okay," he said. "Still kind of numb, but if I look down while I play, I can do okay."

There was a long pause. "Well good," Stef said finally. "That's good."

"Yeah."

Both looked down at their laps.

"Brandon, Mama and I are worried about you. We know you're not sleeping, sweetheart, and we can see how you're struggling. Baby, what's going on?"

There was another massive silence. "B, talk to me," she begged. "Brandon, it's killing me to see you like this."

"It's killing _you_ , Mom?" he challenged, his voice choked. "It's killing _you_? How do you think I feel? Do you feel her touching you every time you close your eyes? Do you feel her breathing on your face when you lie in bed? Do you, Mom? Is that what it's like for you?" Tears spilled out of his eyes and he smeared them angrily with the back of his hand.

"Oh, honey..." Her heart broke as she reached out and her son flinched away from her hand before he let her cup his cheek and wipe his eyes gently. "Oh, Brandon, we had no idea you were feeling all of this."

"It's fine," he tried to say, but his voice was too shaky to be even close to believable.

"Baby." She held her arms out, and he laid his head on her chest, letting the soft Mom spell fill his nose.

"Mommy," he sobbed. "Mommy, I didn't mean to. Mommy, I'm sorry."

"Shh," she soothed, stroking his head slowly. "Shh, baby, it's okay. You didn't do anything wrong."

And the longer he stayed there, tucked into his mother's embrace, the more he believed that.

After fifteen minutes, Lena couldn't stand it any longer, and she crept downstairs, peering around the corner to see Brandon and Stef tangled together on the couch, both asleep. With a smile, Lena snuck closer and tucked a blanket carefully around the two of them, kissing both on the forehead and smoothing Brandon's hair. Then she went back up to bed herself.

* * *

Brandon woke up at six a.m. from the best night of sleep he'd had since the incident, his mom's arm still wrapped around him. He slowly tried to wriggle away from her, but the movement jostled Stef from her slumber.

"Hey, love," she said softly, giving his arm a squeeze.

"Hi, Mom."

"It's been a long time since you've slept in my bed with him, hmm?" Stef kissed his hair.

"This isn't exactly your bed, Mom," he pointed out, rolling over and nearly falling off the couch.

"That, my dear, is true." Another kiss punctuated her sentence. "How'd you sleep?"

"Good," he admitted. "No nightmares."

Stef wrinkled her brow. "Babe, have you been having nightmares?"

"It's fine, Mom."

"Brandon."

"Okay, okay. Yeah, I've had some nightmares. I keep... I keep dreaming about Dani." His mom pulled him closer, but he continued. "I always feel her around me. But I didn't last night."

"Baby steps, yes?"

"Yeah."

With another forehead kiss, she scooted over to make more room for her son on the sofa next to her. "You can always come to us, you know."

"I know," Brandon answered. And he really meant it.


End file.
